Go to Youtube, play this, then wait two or three seconds and play the video blow the link.

Do you see it?

I'm kinda amazed I even thought of this echo thing, but I guess it goes back to when Jeff's dad installed that re-verb unit in the Impala.
Sinead O'Connor / Silent Nighthttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87q5dmW6zDg

Angels being heard down low.

Since we are solo, the thing to do is to wake up Carlow aka Marlow we all know and who drives a one-horse open sled no matter which thread through which he may head.

A woman at the wheel. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, Officer.

Credit: mouse from merced

Mr. Jingle is here, dear! He can see you, you are sleeping. Can you hear sled horns BOMPing? Can you hear reindeer STOMPing? Are you eagerly CHOMPing at the bit for presents or cookies or lumps of koa charcoal?

Reinero's Racing, Santa at the fore. This happens to be just passing by Reinero's Restaurant--same fam damily, cousins--that is across from Mid-Earth.

Credit: mouse from merced

Just what DO Norskis Dieuw during the fest of us, Chrymussy-wise. Enlighten us, Osage of the Midnight Dusk.

Dave's short. 5'4". His rear end jacks higher than his chest. He can't ride all that low as a result.

Credit: mouse from merced

But take your time and ride lower than normal, the magic sled's practicing low-level stunts.

Cheech and Tommy got a new ride now. They can afford it. And there were ladies wearing Red Hats here just a moment before.

Credit: mouse from merced

You don't expect anyone to buy this thread, do you? Where's the climbing content, the CC?

Winging its way to the spirit world, the soul of a hay hawk which died on a bob wire fence line, predated and ated by some hungry hawk catching predator, has a last, slow fly-by in the highlands before taking wing to fly there.

And I posted some kinda ratty pics to the Bir-DUH! thread, there was a PS4 that I snagged for my neighbor at Walmart, and I must say HEY THERE WAS NO PACKAGE TODAY, neebee. Two other boxes had postits saying to come to the office for packages, but no cigar. Manana.

I went out to the fifth floor fire escape and climbed the ladder to the eaves, since it's higher than the balcony. I tied my tripod that ED HARTOUNI gave me with a loop of twine to the ladder and was able to level swivel the whole pan with one hand and I also got a good workout up there, about firteen minutes braced between the ladder and the building. I felt good coming down, too, not stiff with cold like some frost-bitten, starved, thirsty ALPINIST, though the air was cold enough to warrant the balaclava and the gloves AMYJO left me.

Thank you, friends, any and all who feel connected, for the little assisting things that go into these images. I mean the inspiration as well the little "nices" and "good jobs" and other things of a complimentary nature. I'm going to get more skilled, and more ideas, too, constantly.

I'm content to just have something to do and some small audience to share with. It beats Facebook--too many STRANGERS who aren't FRIENDS. I don't blame you, DMT, for not booking face. Not why I'm here, not close.

Those little stampy things.

Credit: mouse from merced

Some Mondrianiana? Both are un-cancelled and vintage. We have other versions with other aloha shirts available, at Middle Earth Mercantile and Friends. Face-painting, too.

Credit: mouse from merced

7:11 a.m. today. From under the cornice, top of the ladder.

Credit: mouse from merced

That's what I got to climb this morning.

Fun. Hope I don't get hassled. Hope I can do this after a heavy snow on a cold, clear day with a north wind howling over my head, a muir leaf in a maelstrom, pigeons whizzing over my head howling like the north wind with abandonment issues.

I'd actually rather get to the top of the old signage framework, up where that hawk sits. I'd love to sit there in that same howling condition and come down frostbitten, hallucinating, sore hemorrhoids, B.O. a-plenty, like some ALPINIST doing his best to stay alive after harrowing acts only a fool would try under the conditions of a terrible California winter.

I stopped into a church, caught a matinee, then I came home, sat right down and wrote an open letter to Fats Waller.

How about love. In tennis, it's nothing. In life, it's the best thing.

FYI, I got that off of GAMEFACEBOOK, Brandon.

That was a nice pic (u-kno the one) of your mug--do you shave yet, youngster, speaking of mugs? :0)

The time I was up and out of bed. Dragged a hand across my head. both my eyes were awfully red. Sitting down, I hit ST. Then I had a mug of tea. Looking up, I noticed I was late. The sun's nearly up in the cold, cold air. I grabbed my gloves and my

He's done being the Dunny Bird. NOW he says his name is Roxanna and he knows T Hocking from a club in Cottonwood. Or was it IN a cottonwood. I was pretty hammered--that bird drinks Wild Turkey! And he was buying! I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT! He's the bigg

Credit: mouse from merced

This calls for a shot of Old Sonnet!

Maybe two.

Nah, this will do. They don't get better with age, they just continue to amaze.

Otay...make it two for the road...

That's three too many. Sorry, tech diff.

Credit: mouse from merced

Two, one, go...a Crown Royal this round, one moon shot, and two old crows.

Much Ado About Nothing, folks. Well, we's gonna hafta try to git some o' them funny full moonies here in a few days. Might prove interesting...nice.

neebee get me running in circles, I can hear Cosmic's "little dog laugh" just off stage, and the movie is stowed away with the piano player somewhere.

Then neebee starts running after her own tail.

I tried last night, BEFORE the power went off after my last post, my new secret project. I haven't told anyone about it yet, because it's still a secret. I'm sure it's still a secret. They are all pushing daisies, I haven't spared one yet. I'm the wordless haiku man from North and South Tibet. they think haikui-ing's easy, just count the beats and then put words in the air don't write them with care in hopes that ST. neebee will thoon see bear.

I think I'm not channeling. I think I'm in the middle stages of dun dix-seize, the French malady that strikes one in eight-hundred six poets before the age of seventy and they only live an average age of 60, far below the norm for societe francais at large, but higher than you might expect for French men and women who pot the vin and po the em.
The poets die young from where I come. Wilma Elizabeth is one exception.

Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel (December 22, 1918 – April 13, 2007) was a long-time resident of California's Central Valley. Wilma was one of thousands who emigrated from Oklahoma to California during the Dust Bowl years of the mid-1930s.
McDaniel published more than sixteen [not seventeen] books of poetry and was the subject of a film documentary by Chris Simon, "Down an Old Road: The Poetic Life of Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel."
"Haikudn't believe it when I saw how easy them Japs have it with poems, like. Everybody poops, too, but that don't make 'em talented."--WE on the Japoetry movement(17] which sprouted in the fields of Livingston, Delhi, and Cressey/Ballico following the internments of the war. Her people were not part of that pogrom, she has always averred.--the Willipedium, the free online spiel

So I spent considerable time trying to unload a site to see if Money Business was available to view free and my geekness with the computer is thin. So thin it's transparent. I gave up trying to offload the dang set-ups, had a yen for a cookie, which did not magically appear, and went to bed. But before I did, I made some chicken salad. Or started to. I was cutting away on chicken legs whistling Sweet Adeline, when the power went down, about after midnight, but not yet two. Somewhere in there.

It got dark and quiet and the surges came and the surgers couldn't make the wave and so I dug out the headlame and finished the salad pitch, then bivvied. I woke up WAY before dawn, and the lights were on. I had had had a dream of weirdly out of proportion parts, stuck together. All the parts were geometrical.

money business
by peter-pall monbrian

woe is me
words but no pics
i thotoff chuck of straw
could not see to draw
lines
doodles
equations
blood
a quick-draw even
i got to the end of the paragraph
off topic i yelled
my hat is off to u too i yelled baked to myself
nobody heard us
or they might have misheard us
and thot were we climbers
or fools
but little they know
when your little big toe
starts to throb
it's a sign that u are both both fool and climber
when u rhymer climb
wilma soul every be sasstified, eLIZABETH?
i miss that
my inner seal pup laughs
but the liner leaves me in its wake

And then I woke up, dragged my hand across my head, and wishing I were dead, I wondered where all the light came from, but the power was restored to me so I sat down and wrote a fat letter.

What monkey business from yonder window brakes?
It falleth like the munge-pad with no word of warning.
But what DOES one yell when it's a hunk of munge and not a rock?
Just what is the etiquette, Alighty Hiker?
Drop some more stone tablets on us.
Tell us we shalt not.
I tell you we have and we're NOT sorry, just bluffing.

EDIT: This post originally appeared in ST forum topic "FIND and name this DANCE on your porch, reward is..." but was suffering from a French dix-seize so we moved it into the isolation ward, the Flames thread so there would be no danger to neebee and to mess with her head. MONKEY-STYLE. She hasn't a clue cuz she's probably sleeping, in dreams that my cookies soon will be here.

Out of the blue end of the spectrum, a small but mature Giant Chongo appears, radiantly glowing, two small stone tablets in hand.

"I'm looking for Rose Etta. I have words for her."

And he set the tablets down, one atop the other, stood up and twirled three times widdersnins. Then he leaped into the air, came down, turned back the way he had come, ran off, tripped on the tablets, picked himself up and said, looking over his shoulder, "I meant to do that. Do what you want with those ankle-breakers!"

Non-plussed, for this is purely normal behavior for Giant Chongos. You get used to it.

I took the tablets back to Middle Earth and they revealed a depth of understanding which was astonishing.

Here is what the tablets had chiseled into them in the hand of Mark Klemens, no less! I recognized the distinctive chiseler's style immediately. It's sparing in the extreme, but saves the chisel bit for use on the summits of climbs. He's no geek. I'm the geek.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8p8bSeHkbfs
Climbing contented, the monkey rested.
And dreamed of yellow roses.

One of the fire escape-dwelling birds who nest in the hole in the side of the building through which the fire main come. That is a yellow silk rose. Nesting pair, no idea what kind of birds.

The giant chongo had wiped out Index town, in Wahington, Sunday; Monday had dropped in on Tad and Mouse at Tom's thumb; and by Tuesday, was attacking boulders near Angwin, tossing them like potato chips at Mt. Helena, egged on by H.

Credit: mouse from merced

That was a little too much to dream last night, so I saved it for this morning. Tasty.

And so, with climbing content squabbles out of the way and technical difficulties ironed out, his other selves took off surfing, but I went back to sleep--somebody had to stick around to watch and entertain the inner child, babysit, in other words--a silent night filled with nothing but the printed pages of the glossary.

They said the sets were epic sets.

So was my dream. I have to tell them about it first. It might have meant something, or maybe the Jungster can tell me.

Can you believe they named the Diamond on Long's for this creepy short...I mean...psychoticist? Or not. It matters not one jot.

"We ALL play with my inner chile, honey. He don't know WHO he daddy is. He's a little mother hissone self."--dotty Doty Dapridge, my inner baby-sitter, off on "walkaround" for who knows how long, who knows where

copyright 2013, C. Tucker (C. Hongo); all rights reserved.
I paid him twenty bucks and gave him some tobacco.
I believe he wouldn't really care much that you get to see what he uses as his base language.

For the record, I want you all to know that I respect Chongo as much as anyone and love his word ethic. The work thing...whatever works, bud. I'm just trying to "Drum" some interest up in your finely-tuned product from the finely-tuned energy source within yer head. Maybe the saps, I Mean, the Taco will show some monetary recognition your way. Hope you have a merry christmas saga this year, Chuckster. And maybe you can buy some more rolling tobacco with the proceeds of this coming boom in sales.

Trying to spread the word, sow the seed, and someday someguy is gonna say,

"Say there, hay! Let's go play in the barn!"

chongonation.com Ask for Ben Davis's favorite book, Monkey In the Mirror. Episode One is twenty bucks and is entitled "Simple Courage." A worthy read and good beginning.

"A society is only free so far as its science is evolved."

acquired tradition: patterns of behavior shaped strictly by learning.

adversary: opponent; enemy.

adversarial: struggle of conflict [sic].

article: a single syllable word preceding a noun...the language of Baboon does not incorporate articles.

design: form and function of a living organism: according to physical science, the innovation necessary for designing anything new is a consequence of the infinities existing in the quantum motion of energy and the randomness associated with these infinities (i.e. creative innovation [e.g. life] absolutely requires random input).

Paging BeenKZ, UBKRazy, your lights are on, but there's nobody in the car.

Chris McNamara on the summit of the Stump, Mt. Barrill in the distance.

Credit: Joseph Puryear

inanimate: flawless; immaculate.

indifference: apathy, detachment, zoned, and tired of this.

Buy the dang book.

One last entry and I'm goin' to Reinero's for some old-fashioned "stimuli: detection of motion?"

WTF? Not what I expected. I wanted a Bud Light. I wonder if anyone's moving over at the bar? Maybe I'll just sit here and wait for that package from MI to me.

The word drivel does not exist in Chongo's vocabulary. Everything has its purpose, its reasons for being here. It may not agree with you, but try to suffer it through and offer it--that's how Donini swears he made it through gladiator school, though his biological tradition belies that.